This year, for the first year in a few, we were all together for the special tradition that is The Family Christmas Tree Choosing.
And Oh. My. God.
I will have to keep this post brief as a 9ft Spruce is about to be dropped off and I need to get it in position before the boys come back from football and reject it for being less than perfect.
They are looking for that ultimate cone shape you see; the one off of Christmas movies. They want it scraping the ceiling and fat enough to fill the whole bay window. They want deep green, not blue-green, they want a thick covering of branches so that minimal trunk is visible and they want a good 10-inch pointy top.
I am not kidding you, more than 40 trees were rejected before we were able to agree on a keeper. Our favourite supplier seems to have bred mutants this year. They had two points FFS. Is that to spare us the pain of arguing who gets to put on the star?
Anyway, we finally struck lucky at our third Christmas tree selling establishment only moments before my husband's hangover got the better of him and he suggested an alternative place to SHOVE THE F***ING TREE.
Here it comes now, just in time for a Saturday night family decorating session. What joy awaits. Now feels like an excellent time to break open the rhubarb gin.